


Forgive Me

by raedbard



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Porn Battle, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-19
Updated: 2008-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/pseuds/raedbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't usually get off on pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle V, to the prompt 'don't stop'.

When Sam loses his father and all he can think about is that week that he hated him more than he believed he could hate anyone, Toby doesn't comfort him.

When Sam loses his father, the first and only overtly comforting thing Toby does is reach out for his hand, waiting for the weight of it in his own before he squeezes, tight, solid, promising. His thumb rubs over Sam's knuckles, replacing the chill in Sam's skin with his own warmth. It will be the closest thing to tenderness in his embraces for a while. He raises Sam's hand to his lips, kisses it. And Sam stares at him, feeling loved and confused in the same moment, disarmed by a gesture he can't help but think strange, out of place. Almost like an apology, pre-emptive.

_For what I am about to do, forgive me now_.

When Sam remembers the week following his father's death, the map of his memories is made of the shapes of Toby's body; a landscape of his own sensations and responses, and submissions; a nihilistic experience of sex he hopes he never has - never wants - again, but almost wishes he will; in which nothing matters but coming, over and over and over, against Toby's mouth, his hands, his cock; not intimacy but plain need, a bare awareness of his fingers twisting in the sheets, and the relentlessness of Toby's attentions: fucking him until he can't remember hurt or loss or anger, only a white haze of time during which his mind was only a place for pleasure to exist; blinding, awful pleasure, smothering consciousness, covering memory.

When Sam puts down the phone, for a minute or two, Toby holds his hand. And the imprint of his kiss is still vivid as Toby twists Sam's wrist up and round behind his back, moving too quickly for Sam's numb brain to process. And before he understands what is happening he is begging Toby to stop, begging that the pain should end, begging that Toby's mouth keep on biting at his neck that way, feeling like every pain receptor in his skin is turned up to high, but confused - fuzzy with a hurt that feels like gratification, wave after wave coming with the pinch of Toby's fingers at his nipples and the scratch of his nails across Sam's naked back and his cock aching with the climax Toby won't allow, not yet.

When Sam has had his first orgasm, when he is lying on his back, muscles quivering, he looks up into his lover's face. Toby's eyes are full with lust. There is no mercy in his steady, warm hands. If there is love there Sam doesn't want it, and closing his eyes against the deep, overwhelming darkness of his partner's, Sam only says,

"_Again_."

When Sam's eyes close at first there is nothing: no sensation, only blackness. Then Toby's fingers stroking his neck, the tender places, covered in sweat. His touch is gentle, for now; Sam knows it won't stay so. His tongue licks the same places, sucking skin up into his mouth, then opening wide and biting down, as though he might rip it to pieces, teeth sharp and bright with pain. Then he feels the pressure of Toby's forearm resting against his throat, light to start with, then harder, pressed against his windpipe, cutting the oxygen out of his mouth, burning up what is left in his lungs, confusing pain and pleasure further as Toby wraps his hand around Sam's second, already insistent erection, and then his own, pulling them together, rubbing them against his belly, and then against Sam's. Toby's breathing is heavy, underscored with the sound of Sam's heart sounding a terrified, ecstatic echo inside his head, pulsing madly, every moment faster as the oxygen is starved from his body. As Sam comes Toby pulls his arm away, grasping Sam's hair in his fingers instead, forcing his head back, forcing him to breathe. Sam feels his chest swell with air and his orgasm spill out of him in the same second, as his whole body collapses with sensation and he loses consciousness, for a moment.

When Sam's eyes open, Toby is rubbing a hand over his chest. His ribs, his heart, hurt.

He says, "Get some rest now," and when Sam opens his mouth to protest, Toby covers it with his hand. "No, enough."

And Sam wants to say: no, it won't ever be enough, don't stop, let me forget, don't stop.

But Toby kisses him again, tenderly, like comfort, like he wants to stop the pain. And Sam sleeps, dreamlessly.


End file.
